


That Voice

by Cur_Non



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Alex is thoughtful sometimes, F/M, Historical, Lafayette can't help fantasizing, M/M, Masturbation, Self-Love, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5883073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cur_Non/pseuds/Cur_Non
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the Marquis wants is a little sleep...</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Voice

The Marquis is tired. The moon is full, and bright, and lonely, and cold. He misses his Adrienne, his heart across the sea in France. His beautiful Adrienne, with her pretty, rouged mouth and her bright blue eyes. His Adrienne…she can’t be here in America, not with the war brewing and such a young child to look after, but if he were back there in Paris with her and Henriette and the little one—what he wouldn’t give to hear Henriette laugh, just once. What he wouldn’t give to hold Adrienne, Adrienne who loves him, Adrienne who is his everything. He would sit on their bed and hold her in his arms, his petite little wife with the most generous heart. He would kiss her—deeply, with gratitude like that one time she saved him from embarrassment at a ball and he kissed her in the hallway without permission, because his heart was too full of her for him to do anything else. He would undo the buttons on her dress slowly, one by painstaking one, careful not to damage the gown, and pull it from her shoulders so that he can just see the swell of her breasts beneath the thin fabric of her chemise. He would cup them in his hands, bite at the pale skin of her neck and feel her unfold beneath him. He is touching himself now, languidly imagining that it is Adrienne, trying to imitate her, remembering the way she blossomed underneath him, her body arching up to meet his, her soft skin such contrast to the hardness of his body.

 

That voice. It’s Alexander, flirting with another officer. He’s always flirting, always so _loud_. Lafayette moves his hand faster, trying to finish before his image of Adrienne fades away, but it’s too late. Her image dissolves in the milky darkness, and he almost feels her caress his face before she goes, his vision of loveliness, of all that he loves.

He is left with Alexander. Alexander, who has a voice that cuts through anything, a special trick that allows him to be heard even without shouting above a crowd. Tonight, he’s turned on the charm, and Lafayette can hear his voice sinking down into a purr—like he’s trying to close a deal—and Lafayette imagines the officer leaning into hear him better, close enough to feel the heat between them.

Lafayette wonders who it is. He can’t make out the other voice—it doesn’t have the power Hamilton’s does. He hears the soft scrape of boots upon the ground. He imagines them both smiling, grinning in the darkness with some secret they think they have, out in the darkness where they think no one can hear them. The movements of his hand once again take up a more directed rhythm as he thinks about the bodies of the two officers pressed together, of hands undoing buttons and buttons and cold hands on warm skin. There’s a laugh, a slightly nervous one, and then silence. Lafayette hears an owl—and then a moan.

“Shh,” Alexander hisses.

A ripple of jealousy moves through the Marquis. He hears the rustle of fabric and the sound of their jackets hitting the ground. Then kissing, touching—a gasp from the mystery officer. Lafayette wants to know who the stranger is. He wants to know who Hamilton has chosen to seduce, who now gets to touch and do what he would like to. He closes his eyes and tries to pretend that he is the stranger; that Hamilton is the one touching his cock, running his hand over it quickly, as if the risk of being caught is a real danger, as if time is the only thing they do not have.

“Hey,” Alexander says. “Someone will hear.”

“I can’t—“ says the officer.

The moaning gets louder, carried in on the wind.

Lafayette moves his hand with urgency now, unable to think of anything besides the sounds of pleasure just outside his tent. He comes, biting his lip, into a handkerchief.

There’s more silence outside, and then the rustle of clothes once again. Lafayette covers himself and then falls back down onto his cot. For the first time in days, sleep seems accessible to him now, and he sleeps lightly, but it is enough.

 

“You think he heard us?” Laurens asks.

“Of course he did. No way he did not.”

“Odd idea for a birthday gift.”

“He’d never ask for it himself,” Hamilton says defensively. “And I figure this way, everybody wins.”

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaand the first story is up!


End file.
